Martin woke to the blaring of his bedside alarm. Despite Gotham's ever-gray skies, he felt oddly cheerful.
He threw off the covers, stretched, and hopped out of bed. Adjusting his glasses, he strode to the floor-length mirror and studied his reflection.
"Same old pajamas," he mused, rubbing his chin. "Looks like today, I'm just an ordinary guy. No major trouble headed my way."
Not that trouble ever waited for an invitation.
Yesterday, the Penguin had slipped through his fingers. That didn't sit well with him. He wasn't the type to leave things unfinished. He resolved to track down the squat, conniving crime boss today and settle the matter once and for all.
But first—
"Breakfast," he declared. The Penguin could wait. An empty stomach, however, was unbearable.
As he stepped out of the bedroom, he spotted a Garand semi-automatic rifle and a small black bag leaning against the doorframe—the equipment Gordon had given him yesterday.
Lifting the rifle, he inspected it and muttered, "Penguin's prized collection piece? How did this end up here? Am I going to wake up with souvenirs from every mission now?"
He shrugged off the thought. The answer would be clear soon enough. No use worrying about it now. He found an empty spot on the wall and hung the rifle as decor.
Afterward, he headed to the kitchen and prepared a simple breakfast—millet porridge, boiled eggs, white steamed buns, and a few light side dishes. He preferred to keep things mild in the morning, nothing too greasy.
As he ate, he turned on the TV. The blonde news anchor recited the latest headlines:
"Last night, the Gotham Police Department raided the Last Quote Number, dismantling Penguin Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot's illegal smuggling operation. A large cache of weapons and contraband was seized."
"Early this morning, the Gotham Chamber of Commerce announced a new economic policy led by Wayne Bank to improve citizens' lives."
"The City Council addressed the rise in gang violence..."
Martin sipped his porridge and smirked. Batman and Gordon wasted no time. It had taken mere hours to dismantle the Last Quote Number's entire operation.
"Bat speed," he muttered, impressed.
His attention shifted to the economic policy. "How did Batman get those money-hungry tycoons to agree to such a massive concession?" He shook his head, knowing it wouldn't be easy to make Gotham's bankers bleed willingly.
Then, a sudden glare from outside the window caught his eye. His body reacted instinctively—he flicked his wrist, sending his chopsticks flying like a projectile. They struck a small, glinting blade mid-air, deflecting it just before it reached him.
Before he could fully process what was happening, his front door burst open with a thunderous crash. The reinforced steel lock tore free, sending wood splinters flying. Some even landed on Martin's face.
"My door!" he groaned.
That settled it—his identity today was that of a martial artist.
But more pressing than that revelation was the very real problem of his damaged door. His home wasn't special. No security shields, no automatic recovery features. If it was destroyed, he could very well wake up tomorrow on the streets of Gotham—or worse, stranded on some desolate planet light-years away.
The thought made him shudder.
He had no time to dwell on it. His instincts kicked in, and in an instant, he launched himself forward like a predator pouncing on prey.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Martin met his attacker—a long-haired woman clad in a black trench coat over a red shirt, paired with black leather pants and boots. Without hesitation, he swung a powerful hammer-like fist at her head.
She reacted swiftly, planting her feet firmly on the steps and shielding herself with her arms. She absorbed his attack without faltering.
Martin's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Not because she blocked his strike, but because she took it without any visible injury.
Capitalizing on the opening, she shifted from defense to offense. Her arms moved like serpents, coiling around his and locking onto his joints. Her toned legs wrapped around his waist, attempting to throw him down the steps.
Despite being tangled with a formidable opponent, Martin had no romanticized notions about the situation. This wasn't a movie fight—it was real, and the woman was no pushover.
His eyes flicked to the street, where several figures in black stood, crossbows at the ready.
"Why does trouble find me the moment I wake up?" he groaned internally.
Digging in his heels, he flipped his grip, seized the woman's shoulders, and rammed his forehead forward.
Crack!
He had aimed for a knockout blow. But she wasn't a novice. At the last moment, she adjusted, cushioning the impact with her chest. Even so, the sheer force broke her ribs, making her wince in pain. Before she could retaliate, he spun and hurled her away.
She twisted mid-air, executed a graceful backflip, and landed atop a parked car.
The black-clad warriors surrounding them raised their crossbows, ready to fire.
"Stand down!" the woman ordered, her voice sharp. "This is between me and the master. No one interferes."
Martin's eyes narrowed at the term "master." He exhaled, realizing this must be part of today's martial artist persona.
"Couldn't you have waited until I finished breakfast?" he grumbled inwardly.
The woman stepped forward, clasping her fists in the traditional martial arts salute. "Master Martin, your reputation precedes you. To react to an ambush so swiftly proves your skills. My journey to Gotham was not a waste."
Martin frowned. "Master? I'm not sure I deserve that title. But you broke down my door first thing in the morning. I take it you didn't come for a casual visit?"
She remained unfazed. "Those in our circle call me 'Lady Shiva.' But you may use my real name—Sandra Wu-San."
Martin tensed. He knew that name well.
Lady Shiva—one of the deadliest martial artists in the world. She had bested Batman multiple times and dedicated her life to perfecting combat. A duel with her was no small matter.
"I've heard of you," Martin admitted. He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. "I can guess why you're here. You want to test my skills. A battle between masters."
She inclined her head slightly. "Exactly."
Martin exhaled, then gestured to his attire. His pajamas were nearly shredded from the brief scuffle.
"At least let me change first."
Shiva smirked. "I'll wait outside."
Despite her arrogance, she respected worthy opponents. She had already gauged his strength from their brief exchange, and she was willing to give him time to prepare.
Martin sighed. "Another morning in Gotham."
He turned toward his battered door, already dreading tomorrow's wake-up call.